The countdown ticked, a digital drumbeat against the silence of the common room.
23:59:51
23:59:50
The fire crackled low, casting grotesque shadows that danced and rippled like something alive and hungry. Mira's phone lay on the rug, a persistent, horrifying loop of her dead brother's voice:
["You weren't there, Mira… you said you'd come…"
"…you said you'd come…"]
The voice warped more with each repetition. Slower. Deeper. Stretched like a record left in the sun, grinding a horrible, sustained torment into the suddenly fragile air.
"Turn it off!" Cal growled, his face contorted in a mix of disgust and raw fear. He broke the terrified stillness first, lunging forward.
He grabbed Ash by the collar, shoving him against the bookshelf hard enough to rattle the glass. "You planned this," he spat, his voice thick with accusation. "What the hell did you bring into this house? Some twisted Vale ritual to get your kicks, you sick bastard?"
Ash didn't flinch. His fingers remained loose on Cal's arms, betraying no tension. His voice was unnervingly calm, almost detached. "I didn't write the card, Cal. I didn't make the board. But I found it. Under the statue. Your university's prized landmark, remember? The one you complain about every other week."
Cal's eyes narrowed, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "You think that makes it yours? Or ours?"
"It called to me," Ash answered, a strange, undeniable conviction in his tone. "It means I'm the last Vale left who gives a damn. This wasn't meant for you, Cal, but you're in it now too, aren't you?"
"You're a disgrace," Cal snapped, tightening his grip. "You lost your name the second your dad—"
Ash's hand moved first. Not a punch—worse. Just a deliberate, chilling tap on Cal's chest, right over the Rusted Blade piece. The faint red glow of the piece seemed to pulse in time with his touch, a silent warning. "Say his name again. See what happens."
Cal faltered, his anger momentarily eclipsed by a stark flicker of genuine fear. He swallowed hard, his grip loosening, eyes darting to the glowing piece.
"Boys," Luna cut in, her voice a lazy, almost bored slash that still managed to command attention. "If we could table the testosterone. There's a countdown, remember? And I, for one, prefer my reality untorn." She gestured with a perfectly manicured hand towards the digital numbers on the ceiling.
Mira's breath was ragged, hitching in her throat. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking as she finally crouched to snatch up the phone. Leo's voice faded into static, then merciful silence, leaving only the ghost of its horror in the air.
She looked up, her eyes glassy, furious, and utterly shattered. "You knew what this was. You had to."
Ash finally met her gaze, his own expression unreadable, weighted with something akin to sorrow. "No," he said, his voice quiet, almost mournful. "I only knew it wanted to begin. I didn't know how deep it would cut. Or that it would find him."
"You used us," she snapped, her voice rising, raw with betrayal. "What was this, some twisted Legacy Circle initiation? Reclaim your title by sacrificing the rest of us for your family's messed-up history?"
Ash didn't answer. The silence that followed was louder than any denial, thick with accusation and a growing, undeniable dread.
Theo stepped forward, jaw tight, hands clenched at his sides. "We were bait. All of us. And you just watched."
Seo-jin's arms were crossed so tightly they trembled. Her gaze flicked from the ominous countdown on the ceiling to the silent board to Mira's pale, trembling face. Her voice was barely a whisper, cold with a preternatural dread. "We need to stop. This thing—it's… not a game. It's not fair. And it's not done."
"No one's touching that board again," Mira declared, her voice cracking but firm with a desperate resolve. "We're done. This ends now."
The board hummed. Not loud. Not mechanical. More like a breath held in too long, a low vibration that thrummed through the floorboards, a palpable response to her defiance.
Luna sighed, a theatrical puff of air, then turned. "What, it gets angry if we ghost it?" She strode toward the door, her fur-trimmed coat flaring around her like a sudden, dark wing. "Pathetic," she muttered, without bothering to clarify if she meant the situation, the board, or all of them for being stuck.
The door groaned open like it resented being touched, a slow, drawn-out sigh of metal.
Luna vanished into the white, impossibly normal hallway beyond. Theo watched her go, his arms folding slow, defensive, like he was trying to protect himself from an invisible blow.
No one sat. The common room felt like a cage.
Seo-jin edged away from the table, drawn to the safety of the wall, her silhouette almost disappearing into the shadows. Her voice was barely a whisper. "What happens if we just leave it… alone? Does it… stop?"
"We find out tomorrow," Mira said, though her conviction seemed to waver under the weight of the ticking clock. "But tonight? No more rolls. No more pieces. We walk away."
She walked to the board and lifted her hand, hesitant. She stopped short of touching the Spiral Flame piece. It flickered, still a menacing red glow. She pulled her hand back as if burned.
The fire in the hearth popped, a sudden burst of sparks, mirroring the piece.
Ash didn't move. Not toward the board. Not toward anyone. He just watched them, his face unreadable, a growing, terrible realization settling in his own eyes. The silence in the room stretched, thin and unnatural.
The countdown kept ticking.
23:58:40.
23:58:39.
They leave, one by one. Theo was the last, his hurried steps echoing in the suddenly empty hall.
No one said goodnight. The door clicked shut behind them, a sound of chilling finality.
Ash stood alone in the common room.
The board pulsed with a soft, steady glow, a faint, rhythmic thrum.
The pieces did not move.
But something watched. And Ash knew, with a certainty colder than the night, it wasn't just watching. It was listening. The silence itself felt like a threat, a promise that the game would continue, even if they tried to run.
***
Ash's Apartment –
I woke before my alarm. Not startled, but as if ejected from sleep by an unseen force. The ceiling stared back at me, knowing something I didn't.
The room was cold, colder than it should have been. My breath plumed faintly in the air. The radiator clicked once, a pathetic pretense of warmth, then gave up.
I sat up, the silence pressing in. My phone lay on the bedside table. I picked it up, dreading what I'd see.
17:54:20
17:54:19
It was still there. The countdown. Not an app. Not a notification. It just existed now, etched into the corner of my lockscreen like it belonged, like time itself had taken a side.
I set it down face-down. It didn't help. The walls felt… wrong. Too still. Not quiet—listening. Waiting.
I got up. Moved like nothing had changed. Shower. Uniform. White shirt. Crest pinned. The Vale insignia, once a symbol of pride, looked more like a brand on a coffin now.
Coffee. Bitter. Half-cold before I even took a sip.
The TV murmured in the background, muted. A news anchor mouthed soundless vowels under a chyron that glitched every few seconds:
[CAMPUS SURGE MYSTERY: Grid Malfunctions Across Vale District
"Students report strange outages, flickering lights, unexplained static."]
I watched her for a second too long. Her eyes didn't blink in sync. One delayed by a fraction. I turned it off.
Grabbed my satchel. The board wasn't in it. Just books. Just paper. But the weight still felt off, as if carrying something invisible.
I left the room. Locked the door. Started walking.
Outside, the air was normal. The sun was bright, birds chirped.
That was the worst part. The world didn't look different.
But I did. And the countdown hummed in my pocket. I didn't check it again. I already knew it was moving.
***
Ashwick University –
The campus didn't know. Or didn't care.
Students laughed. Spilled coffee. Complained about deadlines. Life continued like the night never happened, a bizarre, oblivious normalcy.
But something was wrong. The city, usually so vibrant, seemed to hold a collective breath.
I passed the science wing, drawn by an invisible thread. Morning sun glinted across the window beside the courtyard.
For half a second—just a blink—I saw it.
A symbol in the glass. Like a crown made of teeth. Sharp, wrong geometry. Sigil lines I didn't recognize but somehow understood—an ancient, predatory mark burned into the reflection.
Then it was gone. Just my reflection. Just the window. The whisper of wind brushed the ivy. I kept walking.
Every door I opened, I felt it. A hush. Not obvious—just a second too long before conversation resumed. Whispers that stopped the second my shoes hit the tile. Like they knew. Like they were waiting.
I walked into class.
Mira's seat: empty. A stark, aching void.
Theo was here, but didn't look at me. One headphone in, hoodie up. His fist pressed against his mouth like it was holding something in—a scream, a revelation.
Seo-jin's head stayed down. Her notes were perfect. But she turned a page the second I looked her way, as if hiding a secret.
The professor droned on, his voice a distant hum.
I didn't listen. The countdown vibrated in my pocket.
17:17:40
I swore I could feel it under my skin. Like static electricity building. Like the board's touch lingered, a brand. Even when it was nowhere near.
The hallway hummed. Fluorescents overhead buzzed just slightly too loud. Locker doors slammed in uneven rhythm, echoes lingering a beat too long.
I walked to mine. Spun the dial, the click-click-click abnormally loud.
Open it.
It's already there.
Plain envelope. No name. Just white. Folded once. Centered perfectly on the bottom, as if waiting.
I looked around. No one's watching. That I can see. But the air felt thick with unseen eyes.
I opened it.
Inside: a card. Black, etched in gold. Same impossible material as the others. But this one's smooth. No piece. Just text. And a chill that seeped into my fingers.
["The next offering is due. Delay has its price."]
No signature. No instructions.
Just consequence. A cold, clear threat.
My phone buzzed. A jarring vibration in my pocket.
Countdown: 13:40:18
And falling. Relentless.
I closed the locker, the metallic clang sounding strangely muffled.
The world tilted—just slightly. Like something shifted behind the walls, a vast, unseen mechanism grinding into gear.
I gripped the card so hard the edge cut skin. No blood. Just cold. A deeper chill than any surface.
The hallway swayed. Too many doors. Too many choices, all leading to the same inescapable conclusion.
I pushed through one—the bathroom. Tile. Sink. Fluorescent flicker, stuttering like a dying heart.
I dropped the satchel to the floor. Leaned over the basin, catching my breath.
Splashed cold water on my face. Again. And again. Trying to wash away the dread, the static.
Looked up.
The mirror's fogged.
No, not fog—shimmer. A strange, oily distortion.
It cleared. I saw myself.
But I'm wearing the Crown.
The Crown of Dust. Bronze thorns and bone-set jewels. Resting on my head like it's always been there, a natural fit. A terrible, silent coronation.
Not my reflection.
Me.
Looking back.
Not blinking.
My mouth moved.
"It wants more."
I didn't hear it with my ears. I knew it. A voice inside my head, resonant and cold, an absolute truth that settled deep in my bones.
The air tasted like static. Ozone and dust. The scent of an ancient ritual.
And I understood.
We don't have to play the game on the board.
But the game will play us. It had already begun, long before we even picked up the pieces.